


Faith

by Skeksi



Category: Merlin (1998)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Drowning, Gen, POV Third Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-30
Updated: 2018-05-30
Packaged: 2019-05-16 04:36:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14804486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skeksi/pseuds/Skeksi
Summary: Vortigern's thoughts during his final battle and leading up to his death. A response to the 20th Anniversary Fanwork Challenge for March (Prompt: Faith)





	Faith

**Author's Note:**

> Given that this challenge was my idea, I really shouldn't be as far behind with it as I am... But never mind, here is my answer to the March challenge prompt “Faith” (yes, I have used the most imaginative of titles for my entry :P) on the 20th Anniversary Merlin Fanwork Challenge.
> 
> Makes a couple of mentions of events that only happen in the novelisation (Vortigern's attempted marriages, etc.) but you don't need to have read it to understand what's going on. Hopefully.

Vortigern has never believed in any gods, not really, not in their capacity to alter his life. Some men – _weak_ men, _foolish_ men – might have believed in them after three of his brides died in quick succession. Or after over twenty years of his reign has not even produced so much as a bastard daughter from a whore or a serving wench – and he has had plenty of both. Others, fools like the soothsayer, saw bad omens in the fact that his castles wouldn't stand. He had given fools like that an inch, and that was how all of his current troubles had started – Merlin's dreams, Mab's plots, Ardente's defection. See what good came of listening to gods?

 

Vortigern has never had faith in anything, except for himself – the strength of his arm, the cut of his sword. Faith that he will dispatch his enemies and grind their remains into dust. For a man who doesn't believe in anything but himself, his faith is strong, almost unshakeable. He has the weight of history behind him, after all – he has never lost a battle before. He has faith, as he commands his men to charge Uther's army. He has faith as he drives his sword into Ardente's chest and the blood pours out into the snow below the dead man. He has faith as he brings his sword down towards the traitor wizard's head. Such is his faith that it takes him a few moments, as his sword shatters against Merlin's, as the man before him raises the blade above his own head, for that self belief to waver and for him to genuinely consider that he might die.

 

When it does, his confusion is met with one moment of clarity, almost of relief – at least he will die on the battlefield, a sword in hand. He might not leave a legacy of sons, or of castles, or even of much fondness from the people he has ruled these past decades, but at least he will leave the memory of a fearsome warrior behind him.

 

Perhaps Merlin knows this. Perhaps he performs his next action out of spite – revenge for months of imprisonment and mistreatment, revenge for Ardente's daughter. Perhaps in that bizarre wizard mind he actually sees it as a kindness. But whatever the reason, he doesn't use the blow to split Vortigern's skull, or plunge it into his heart. Instead he brings it down against the ice – and for a moment, Vortigern assumes that the wizard is either a complete idiot, or a terrible aim, and his faith returns in a flash. After all, it's still entirely possible to kill a man with only half a sword, if the man can't hit you with his own. Then the ice opens up below him and he plunges into the icy water below.

 

His heavy cloak and armour drag him down. Above him, he can see the ice sealing up. All he can think is that this cannot be happening. He is the King of Britain, he is a warrior. This cannot be his end – plunged into icy water to drown by a wizard who can barely pick up a sword.

 

His lungs are burning, he knows that if he cannot reach the surface he will be dead soon. His muscles are seizing up with cold, which will make that tricky.

 

And then, salvation. A glistening woman drifting towards him in the water, an impossibility. As she gets closer, her features become clearer. She is shining and clad in white, like the angels that the Christians speak of, but her features bear a remarkable similarity to Mab. Vortigern would groan if he had the air to do so. Have all the gods come together to taunt him in his final moments?

 

Her features are kind – not so like Mab's, then – and she reaches out to touch his face. She doesn't seem to have any trouble breathing underwater, and Vortigern realises in an instant what he will do. He grabs her, pulls her towards him. She comes closer without complaint, and he presses his mouth to hers. He will take the air from her, use it to give him the strength to fight his way back to the surface, and leave her behind here. As he has done before – by taking Mab's offer and then slaughtering her followers, by taking Christian gold and burning down their churches, by taking Merlin's advice and then imprisoning him and sending his love to her doom. What does it matter, as long as he survives, as long as he remains king?

 

But this time is not like the others. Her lips move against his, almost in a kiss, and her hands slide up to cup his face. But when he opens his mouth, rather than the air he is expecting, he feels a wave of water pour into his mouth, into his lungs. His body convulses. He tries to kick her away but his feet simply drift through her, and when he tries to pull away from their kiss, her gentle touch seems as immovable as steel. He tries to scream, but all that comes out of his mouth are bubbles.

 

She finally releases him and he breaks for the surface – tries to – his arms and legs won't obey him, his body desperately trying to expel the water in his lungs. He can vaguely make out the ice above him, a patch of light shining through the thick snow.

 

He hears her voice in his ear.

 

“You are dying.”

 

It is soft. It is soothing. It is the most terrifying thing he has ever heard in his life.

 

“Your reign is over, King Vortigern. Rest now.”

 

He can't rest. He won't rest. He tries to swim away from her, towards the patch of light.

 

“Come with me.”

 

A glowing hand reaches out to him and touches his cheek, and all within his chest seems to burn with a screaming pain. Above him, he sees the light go out.

 

“You are in my kingdom now.”

 

They are the last words he hears. And within him, the last remnants of Vortigern's unshakeable faith march to their death just moments ahead of the king himself.

 


End file.
